No Need to Say Goodbye

Dr van der Linden watched her face unobtrusively, reading her thoughts very accurately, while bearing his part in their talk with the cool pleasantness he exhibited when they met at hospital, so that her uneasiness subsided; he was, after all, only doing what any charitable-minded person would do for someone they knew, however slightly.

Bick Street, despite the neatness of its little houses, was a different kettle of fish from Much Hadham. Louise reflected that she wouldn’t feel a spark of regret when they left it. She voiced her thoughts as the doctor stopped before her front door. ‘I shall be glad to leave here,’ she said, and turned to thank him for her lift. But Zoë had opened the door and was already standing by the car, her pretty, eager face beaming at them.

‘I’ve just made tea; come and have a cup with us Dr van der Linden?’

Louise began, ‘Oh, but we’ve…’

But she was forestalled by his calm, ‘That would be delightful,’ and his speedy removal of his vast person from his car. He came and opened the door for her, smiling down at her so that she found it quite impossible to say anything more.

Inside the house they went into the sitting-room, where signs of their departure were much in evidence, with packing cases in corners and books piled tidily. The tea-tray was on a corner of the table by the window, and Zoë said, ‘There is plenty in the pot…’ and raised her voice to call, ‘…Christine, bring that cake Louise made yesterday, and find Mike; tea is made.’ She smiled at Louise. ‘I’ll pour, Louise, you look tired. How come you met Dr van der Linden?’

‘He lives at Much Hadham…’

Christine and Mike had joined them. The three younger members of the family turned surprised faces to their guest and chorused happily, ‘How utterly super—do you live near Ivy Cottage? Are you married? Did you know Great-Aunt Payne?’

Louise’s quiet voice brought them all to a halt. ‘My dears, I hardly think that Dr van der Linden would wish to answer you.’

Zoë said at once, ‘Oh, sorry, we didn’t mean to be rude. It was awfully kind of you to bring Louise back, though; it’s saved her hours. Have some of this cake; she is a marvellous cook.’

Louise was astonished to see him eat a slice with evident appetite, after the splendid tea they had had, too. Of course, he was a very large man; moreover he was kind; he was probably eating it for fear of hurting her feelings. The conversation centred round the trials of moving house, enlivened by Dusty’s antics and Mike’s high-flown ideas as to what he intended to do with the attic at Ivy Cottage. The doctor sat back at his ease, listening with interest and occasionally putting in a question. It was almost an hour before he rose, saying that he had an appointment and would have to go. Louise thanked him again politely as he took his leave, but it was Zoë who went out to the car with him, and stood talking by it for a few more minutes.

Louise, glancing out of the window, frowned thoughtfully. Dr van der Linden and Zoë seemed taken with each other, but her sister was very young, he must be almost twice her age. Besides, he hadn’t answered their questions, had he? She supposed that she could find out easily enough at the hospital if he was married or not, but that was something she would never do. In any case, she told herself they were very unlikely to see much of him; once they had moved the two youngest would be at school, Zoë would get a job and she would, with luck, have a job in Stevenage. With Zoë earning as well as herself, and no rent to pay, there would be more money; Zoë would be able to have some pretty clothes and join a tennis club, get to know young people of her own age. Louise, her thoughts busy with the future, turned away from the window and went along to the kitchen to see what there was for supper.

She made the journey to Ivy Cottage again the next day; she was on duty that night, but it was worth going for the morning at any rate; she was sure she would have time to clean out another bedroom, and perhaps someone would come and buy the bed.

Her hopes were realised; the bedroom was a small room and there wasn’t much furniture in it. She had washed the paint and cleaned the walls ready for the painting they would do the next time they came, and was consulting with Mr Baxter about the Aga, when an elderly couple thumped the knocker.

They had a daughter getting married, they explained, and the bed might do as a wedding present. Louise led them upstairs and watched patiently while they tried the springs, examined the mattress and, finally, offered her rather less than she had asked. She accepted without demur; the money would come in very handy, and the bed would be out of the way. They had a van outside; the bed was dismantled and stowed safely, and both parties parted on the best of terms, well satisfied. If the tables and chairs were sold as easily there would be money enough to have the kitchen modernised a little: she went straight back to Mr Baxter and sounded him out upon the matter. He had just the thing, he assured her, some cupboards and shelves someone had ordered and then cancelled at the last minute. Going cheap; he mentioned a price well within her budget and she sighed with relief; something on the floor and some curtains at the window, and at least one room in the little house would be ready for use.

She had time for a brief nap before she went on duty, and when Dr van der Linden encountered her as he left the women’s medical ward, she looked her usual self, unshakeably calm and as neat as a new pin. His ‘Good evening, Sister,’ was uttered with impersonal politeness before he went on to discuss with her the condition of one of his patients; that he had sat and watched her cleaning furniture in an old apron and with her hair anyhow, smacked of the nonsensical, and from his manner it seemed plain to her that he had dismissed it from his mind. And why not? common sense demanded of her, while at the same time she felt a decided peevishness at his lack of friendliness.

She didn’t see him again until she was on the point of leaving the hospital five days later, with the prospect of two nights off duty, her head full of plans as to what to do first at Ivy Cottage. The last of these days fell, most fortunately, on a Saturday, which meant that all four of them would be able to work there. The sitting-room, she decided, as she changed out of her uniform; if they could do the walls and paintwork, then the carpets could be laid, and in the meantime she could start on the dining-room. They would have to move out of the house in Bick Street in less than a week’s time… She started downstairs on her way out, deep in thought.

Dr van der Linden followed her silent-footed, caught up with her on the first landing, and asked, ‘Nights off? Do you plan to go to Much Hadham today? I shall be driving there this morning. Can I give you a lift? Around ten o’clock?’

She had stopped to look at him, tired eyes from her beautiful face searching his own blue eyes, half hidden under their heavy lids.

‘Thank you,’ she said at length. ‘I did intend going there today, and I’d be grateful.’

‘Good.’ He spoke briskly. ‘I will be outside your place; if there is anything to take down there, it can go in the boot.’

Too good an opportunity to miss; Louise had a number of cardboard boxes and plastic bags tidily lined up in the little hall by the time the doctor arrived. She had seen Mike and Christine off to school, eaten a hasty breakfast with Zoë, attended to Dusty’s wants, and had a shower, so that when she opened the door to him she appeared ready for a day’s work at the cottage. He gave her a searching glance, accepted the coffee she offered, fended off Dusty’s pleased advances, and sat down for all the world as though he had the morning to waste. Louise, in a fever to get on with the manifold jobs awaiting her, and aware that if she sat still for any length of time she would fall asleep, drank her own coffee so fast that she scalded her tongue, and then sat watching him take his time over his own drink. When they were at last in the car with her boxes and bags stowed and Dusty, to his delight, on the back seat—for as Dr van der Linden had pointed out he might just as well spend the day at Ivy Cottage since they would be returning at around five o’clock and could be conveyed without trouble—he observed casually that he for his part had not the least objection to her closing her eyes and taking a refreshing nap.

‘Thank you,’ said Louise frostily, still nettled at his tardiness, ‘I am not in the least sleepy.’ And, within seconds of saying it, had nodded off.

At Ivy Cottage he wakened her gently, took the door key from her and went to open the front door. He deposited her bundles in the hall and led Dusty to the safety of the little back garden. Which gave her time to become thoroughly awake. As he ushered her from the car, he remarked in his calm way, ‘It is not of the least use advising you to get on to the nearest bed and sleep, although that is what you need more than anything else. Fortunately you are a well-built girl with plenty of stamina, even if you are of a managing disposition. I see Mr Baxter is already at work, and Ted Poolley is on his knees measuring the stairs. I have put Dusty in the garden.’

‘You have been very kind. I am sorry I was snappy, it’s just that there is so much to do…’

‘And that reminds me,’ interpolated the doctor, ‘my gardener’s grandson is staying with him—a lad of fifteen or so; he has been helping around the garden, but there is very little for him to do there at the moment and he is at a loose end. You would be rendering me a service by taking him off his grandfather’s hands for an hour or so. Don’t pay him—he has had his week’s wages in advance… His name is Tim.’

‘But I must pay him…’

‘You shall settle up later; don’t complicate things at present. He’s a handy lad; give him some painting to do.’

The doctor nodded briefly, and had taken himself off before she could argue the matter, and five minutes later a tall, skinny youth presented himself at the door. He grinned shyly.

‘Tim, miss, come to give you a hand.’

Louise was no longer tired; a great part of the day was before her, Mr Baxter was putting up shelves with the speed of light, Mr Poolley was in the dining-room now, with his ruler and notebook, and here was willing help. She beamed at Tim. ‘Can you paint?’ she asked happily.

Even with a coffee break, the four of them had got through a prodigious amount of work by one o’clock: the shelves were up, the cupboards were in position, the Aga worked and she had decided on the carpeting with Ted Poolley. It would make a big hole in the small capital, but she could economise on everything else, and he would get it laid before they moved in. The three went to their lunches, and she went into the garden and sat on a rickety garden seat and shared her sandwiches with Dusty, who was lolling happily in the unkept grass.

Mr Baxter had finished by mid-afternoon; Louise gave him a cheque and thanked him nicely. ‘Do anything for a pretty young lady like you, miss,’ mumbled Mr Baxter. ‘Just you send along if you need any jobs done.’

‘Oh, I will,’ declared Louise, and beamed widely at him; life at Much Hadham was going to be a dream after Bick Street.

She made tea for Tim and Ted Poolley, and opened the packet of biscuits she had had the forethought to bring with her. The sitting-room was very nearly finished, and since Ted had promised the carpets would be laid within the week she would be able to stay at home and make the curtains. She saw them off home presently, tidied everything away, did what she could to tidy her own person and locked up. Ted had the second key, and she wouldn’t be coming again until her last free day. She stood by the stout front door and surveyed her house with pride. Mr Baxter had seen to the windows, making them secure, and when they all came in a couple of days’ time, they would clean windows. She sighed with content and turned round in time to see the doctor’s Jaguar slide to a halt by the gate.

Dr van der Linden got out, ushered Dusty on to the back seat, stowed Louise’s bits and pieces in the boot and invited her to make herself comfortable beside him.

Louise, full of the false energy consequent on a sleepless night as well as a busy one, followed by a hard day’s work, was bright-eyed and chatty. He allowed her to run on, merely murmuring placidly when she paused for breath, and when they reached Bick Street, despite the appearance of Zoë with an invitation to stay for tea, he refused, although he qualified his refusal with the suggestion that, once the family had settled in their new home, Zoë might like to have tea with him. ‘After all, I shall be a near neighbour,’ he told her, smiling down at the small, pretty creature.

Louise saw the smile; she wasn’t at all surprised at the effect Zoë was having on the doctor. She was delightfully pretty, with a charming, unselfconscious air. Louise, in the mental no man’s land of one needing her sleep, had the pair of them in love at second sight, engaged and married even while she was bidding Dr van der Linden a polite goodbye at her door; still in the throes of romance, she watched Zoë accompany him across the narrow pavement to his car. Provided he wasn’t married already, and she must discover that as quickly as possible, he would do very nicely for her sister—he was a lot older, of course, but that didn’t matter…

She dumped her boxes and bags in the kitchen, greeted Mike and Christine, handed over Dusty to the former for his walk, and sat down at the kitchen table. Christine was sitting there, doing her homework, but she paused to look at her elder sister.

‘You’re tired,’ she declared. ‘The kettle is boiling; I’ll make tea—there is some cake… Then you go upstairs and lie down, Louise; Zoë and I will get the supper and call you when it’s ready. We can talk then.’

Louise drank her tea and, urged by Christine, took herself off to her room. It overlooked the street and, glancing out of the window, she saw that the doctor was still talking to Zoë. Seeing them, she nodded with sleepy satisfaction and, kicking off her shoes, subsided on to the bed, to sleep within seconds.

Over supper, much refreshed, she described her day and discussed the weighty problem of curtains. Since Zoë was free in the morning, they agreed to go together and buy all the material they needed. ‘And on Saturday,’ said Louise, ‘we’ll all go to Ivy Cottage and do the last odd jobs. I hope someone will buy those odds and ends of furniture before we move.’ She ticked off everything which had to be done before they left Bick Street, and half-way through yawned prodigiously.

‘You go to bed this instant,’ said Zoë firmly. ‘You’re asleep on your feet. We’ll make a list and you can check it in the morning.’

A good night’s sleep worked wonders; Louise and Zoë, their list made to everyone’s satisfaction, made their way to the High Street and spent an hour choosing material for the curtains. The windows of Ivy Cottage were small and the shop specialised in remnants; they returned home well pleased with themselves, laden with all they needed. It remained only to get the curtains made. In the cupboard under the stairs was a very old sewing machine; Louise hauled it out, set it to rights and, with Zoë to help her, got started.

They were all up early the next morning, and with Dusty and a number of bags, and a picnic lunch, they were at Ivy Cottage betimes.

Mr Poolley had been working hard. The lino on the kitchen floor was laid, the dining-room was carpeted and there was a sound of hammering from somewhere upstairs. With such an encouraging start to the day they set to work with a will and, by the time they left, the little house was beginning to look like home. Louise went on duty that evening feeling pleased and excited; in four days’ time she would leave, and once they had settled into their new home she would go after a job.

Her euphoria waned a little as the night wore on. The medical wards were unusually busy; they were always full, but now they were spilling over, with extra beds up and a number of new patients who needed extra care. By the time she was due to go off duty she was tired and peevish, wanting her bed above all things.

It was nice to find breakfast ready and waiting when she got to Bick Street; her sisters and brother clustered round as she ate it, and only when she had finished did Zoë say, ‘We knew you wouldn’t mind, Louise—Dr van der Linden met me when I was out with Dusty yesterday evening—at least, he was driving home, I suppose, and came down this street… He stopped and asked if we wanted a lift tomorrow and I said yes.’ She paused to look at Louise’s face. ‘You don’t mind? It seemed such a splendid chance; we could start on the garden and he said we could have lunch at his house and take Dusty, so you’d have a nice long day to yourself. He’ll bring us back this evening.’

Louise squashed a feeling of self-pity welling up in a threatening manner; it was kind of the doctor, and moreover it rather pointed to the fact that he had his eye on Zoë. Besides, if they went there for lunch they would soon know if he was married, in which case, the quicker he took his eyes off her, the better. In the meanwhile there was safety in numbers.

She said with an instant willingness that she didn’t quite feel, ‘What a splendid notion, my dears. Do remember to take Dusty’s food with you and his bowl; he’ll be quite happy in the garden. Christine, if you finished your curtains yesterday evening, will you take them with you and hang them? There is a spade in the little garden shed at the end of the garden, but perhaps Dr van der Linden wouldn’t mind you taking the garden fork—you could leave it there. Take a bottle of milk—you might want tea.’ She saw their relief as she yawned and declared, ‘Must say, a long sleep will be nice…’

‘Then you don’t mind—truly not?’ asked Mike.

‘Not one bit. I’ve had a rotten night—all go—and I can think of nothing nicer than a bath and bed. Take a key with you just in case I’m gone before you get back.’ Something made her add, ‘I told Night Sister on the surgical wards that I would cover for her for the first half hour—she may be late on duty.’

Which wasn’t true, but she had a reluctance to meet Dr van der Linden, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Urged by the other three, she went upstairs to her room and got ready for bed but, although she was so tired, she was still awake when she heard the doctor’s car stop and then the subdued, cheerful murmur of voices and Dusty’s hastily suppressed barks. They would have a lovely day, she told herself with resolute cheerfulness. ‘And I do hope he’s not married,’ she murmured as she dozed off.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WASN’T until the following morning when she reached Bick Street after another night of non-stop work that she had the details of the outing to Much Hadham, for she had prudently left some time before the working party would return. She hadn’t seen Dr van der Linden, either, although he had been in the hospital to check on several very ill patients, but she had been busy at the time in the accident room and he had sent a message to say that he would leave instructions with the night nurse on duty and Ted Giles would get in touch with her as soon as she was free.

She found her brother and sisters in a high state of excitement; they had had a delightful day, they chorused, at the same time assuring her that they had worked like Trojans. Everything that needed to be done had been done, Zoë assured her, plying her with tea and toast, ‘And we went to Aldo’s house…’

‘Aldo?’

Zoë laughed a little. ‘That’s his name, Dr van der Linden. He said it made him feel old when we called him doctor all the time. Well, it’s at the other end of the village—his house—quite beautiful, Louise, and large with a huge garden at the back. It’s old, eighteenth century, one of those with chequered brickwork, and inside it’s furnished with the loveliest antiques. We only went downstairs, of course, but the hall is vast and there is a staircase, stone and wrought iron—there is a carpet on it, of course. We had a heavenly lunch…’ She was interrupted here by Mike and Christine and a chorus of praise in which grilled mushrooms in a wine sauce, roast chicken and gooseberry tart with lashings of cream, and unlimited lemonade—the genuine kind, they explained—jostled in mouth-watering fashion.

Zoë went on just as though there hadn’t been an interruption. ‘And after lunch we went round the garden; it’s beautiful, Louise, you have no idea…’

Louise said equably that no, she hadn’t, and reflected silently that it seemed unlikely that she ever would, although… She allowed her thoughts to stray for a moment; if Dr van der Linden and Zoë should marry, she might be given the chance. And that reminded her.

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